


devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

by atitforatat



Series: the lover series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Bonding, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atitforatat/pseuds/atitforatat
Summary: Different ways Draco and Harry keep getting bonded for reasons foreign and familiar to themselves.[a silly story in which I play with the different definitions ofbonding]
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: the lover series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513478
Kudos: 6





	devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [Cruel Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ic8j13piAhQ)
> 
> It is long overdue and I didn't even finish it, but here it is anyway! It's one of my favorite songs and I rlly took my sweet time coming up with something to match it, so I really hope you guys like it  
> I promise I will finish it, not sure when, but we'll be in 2020 yet, this I can say  
> English is not my first language, so pls warn me about mistakes and also forgive me for them  
> Also, enjoy!!

Harry kept musing, every time he had some free moment, that working with Malfoy couldn’t be worse. Hermione believed thoughts gave power to Murphy’s Law and deep down he knew she was right, like always. If he truly believed that Malfoy could make his life more hellish than it was, he would be giving a possibility to the Universe and that possibility would happen. So, he kept repeating it in his mind, his personal mantra, that everything could be better. With or without Malfoy. _Maybe dying or going to Azkaban would be better._

The biggest problem was their position. Kingsley’s first move as Prime Minister of Magic was to extinguish Head Auror as a role and simply put two officials: an advisor and a supervisor. Keeping on with the innovations, Kingsley decided that the department, as well as the whole Ministry of Magic, needed new perspectives and open minds to fully restore Magic Britain. Ironically, for him, the perfect new perspective belonged to Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, and son of the most relevant Voldemort follower, who promptly accepted the position even though he’s been a senior Auror for less than three years. 

But Harry, guiltily thinking, wasn’t one to complain either. The Minister offered him the advisor post beside Malfoy, who was now the _supervisor_ , and Harry didn’t have that many years of experience either. He was a one-year superior to Malfoy simply because he decided not to go back to Hogwarts, which he regretted immensely since that year was the worse in all his four years in the force and Malfoy knew that too. Harry was almost envious of his one-year lateness, but, when feeling like that, he remembered what Mione and Ron told him about Malfoy’s troublesome year and felt a little compassion. They’ve both had terrible and fucked up years at the end of each day.

He couldn’t possibly envy Malfoy for real, but he could still use it against him when the time to make decisions came. Playing dirty with him at first sounded wrong but, eventually, Harry knew it was only natural to happen. Malfoy wasn’t the same as before, but it didn’t mean he stopped being himself. A great percentage of his personality didn’t come from his background but indeed affected by it. Harry could find the same sarcastic and slightly off-putting humor in his jokes and smiles, but now it all lacked the aristocratic and racist bullshit. It couldn’t be called nice, but you could say it was acceptable. Acceptable was still a very soft word, but Harry’s vocabulary wasn’t as big as Malfoy’s when it came to the “words that sounded nice but were actually offensive” category. So _acceptable_ it was. The same thing could be said about his strategy to deal with most stuff. He still played to win and to protect himself, so he never really cared if Harry played the same way, he would even drop something close to a compliment when he eventually lost.

Again, a compliment that would actually be offending him and his speech skills or whatever Harry skills were to be insulted. When reminding this, Harry's mantra always came back. _Life can be better. Life can be good. Life will be better._

Not that it made anything _actually_ better, but Harry’s routine seemed a little bit lighter when thinking like this. Ignoring their posts, the fact they worked together, and all that came along made everything look peaceful.

The pleasant feeling lasted as much as it could (a total of five seconds), vanishing as soon as that fearsome and dreary voice came from the door. Seconds after its arrival, its owner appeared, leaning against the door frame, all languid and smiling.

_Scary_ , Harry’s mind filled. When they fought over something, especially if it was a case, and Harry won, even if he got all flared up and angry, seeing Malfoy just as pissed was a sign of their normality. Everything was in its normal functioning way and soon they would move on, if to another conflict or just to ignoring each other was never clear, but nonetheless, normality was assumed from their postures. So, when Malfoy comes smiling, it means the world is heading to its dismay and Voldemort is coming back. The worse possibilities come to the brink of reality, woken up by the pure evilness gathered in that smile. 

“Potter, are you listening? Oh my gosh, Potter, I’ve been talking about important things so far and that bonehead mind of yours is lost somewhere else? Get your head out of your pants and wake up to the real world. You’re in deep shite here, wonder boy, just so you....” Malfoy ranted for some good ten minutes before coming to any plausible conclusion.

He talked about his poor untidy hair, the white strands that kept growing since he and _Potter_ started working together, the rumpled state his clothes were just from having to be near _Potter’s_ stressful presence, and so on. Harry gave up on understanding anything and decided just to watch.

Malfoy was indeed in a disheveled condition, the shape of his hair, which he spent one hour every morning doing with his favorite gel, _Blondlicious_ , was totally dismantled and some strands were in his face. For his hair was longer, close to his ears already, its messy state was even more easily seen. Harry wouldn’t say any of that, though. One of them speechifying about those topics was enough already.

“Anyway, skipping the, ahn, whatever, I’ll cut to the main point”, Malfoy’s voice, when stating something that bothered him, or would compel him to actually pour himself into work, had this hideous tone, which intended to show only through it that he was indeed unsatisfied and needed someone to blame, and Harry hated every time he recognized it because he was the first on-target line. “Potter, please pay me attention now, so, going back to what I was trying to say, your #1 fan decided you and I aren’t doing our duties.” He then paused his saying and finally got inside Harry’s office.

The blond git walked in circles, expecting some kind of reaction to his dramatic pause and actions for sure, but Harry’s patience was drained and his mantra was already forgotten in the back of his mind, so he simply rolled his eyes and let it happen. “Malfoy, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the whole day here.”

“Yes, sure, your right hand must be _so_ anxious to go back to your pants, anyway Kingsley said that instead of fulfilling our obligations we’re engaging in ‘futile and fruitless activities, such as arguments and harmful _bicker_ ’, and fundamentally _threatened_ our job positions since our department is, and again I quote him, ‘being engulfed by an abyss like a child with parents in a problematic relationship’, end of quote two.”

“Potter, did you listen? Let me translate his words to your simpleton's brain, I’ll say it slower”. If Harry wasn’t in a good mood before, at the moment he just wanted to throttle Malfoy. “Malfoy, stop being a fucking prick and focus. He threatened our jobs and you're pissed because he called you a problematic parent?”

_Maybe life will be better when I go to Azkaban for killing this bastard_. “Potter, please, how could he ever fire me? I am the one who goes after you cleaning your shite.” He then paused, leaned against Harry's desk, slowly looked around the room, judging Harry’s taste as always, feigning a sorry state for “Potter’s certain dismissal”. The brunette watched the scene happening thinking of different body-disposal charms. _I think I could pull it off right now, I could grab a tea and talk to someone, so I’d have an alibi._

Suddenly a wide-eyed blond gobshite looks at Harry. “He won’t need me cleaning after you if he fires you. If I don’t have anything to do, I’ll be free to his use, he would finally be able to get me into his fucking **_bed_**. Bloody hell, Potter, we have to save your job so we can save _ME_ and my bollocks _!_ ”

One of the few things that made dealing with Malfoy something a little bit funnier was his crazy theory that Kingsley fancied him. Every action was meticulously interpreted and all of them lead to his conclusion that Shacklebolt was trying to take him from Harry’s side so he can finally “fest in the dirtiest of ways”. Harry has almost believed it to be true after two _long_ years.

“Did Kingsley discuss anything with you? Besides your awful parenting and relational skills?” After some offended stares, Harry added “And how much he fancies you, of course.” Harry felt betrayed. Why Kingsley didn’t tell him anything? Did it mean he wasn’t to blame for anything, and Malfoy was only passing the message in a way they both were fucked? Was his post safe?

He never got to finish his line of thinking, since Shacklebolt’s lynx appeared for them. With a _sonorus_ , his voice resounded through the small office. “Please, come to my cabinet, both of you.”

The walk to the Minister’s rooms was always weird. Every passing employee seemed to know exactly where you were headed, and silent judging happened. Harry, of course, hated it.

When both were seated and Percy closed the door, the air was tense. _We can cut it, there’s not even the need for a knife._ Anxiety filled Harry’s senses and his hands were sweating already. Shacklebolt’s silence wasn’t helping either.

“So, I believe Mr. Malfoy must have enlightened you about some parts of what we’ll discuss, Mr. Potter, but I’ll repeat myself nonetheless.” Kingsley took a sip of his teacup, crossed his hands, and prepared himself. _Holy shite, we are fucked, utterly fucking fucked._ “Recently, specifically in the last two years, the Auror Department hasn’t accomplished none of its goals, increased its budget in 145% and lost more than 40% of its force due to death, early retirement, or resignation.”

Kingsley stared deeply in each one's eyes and waited. The brunette didn’t know if he wanted an explanation, apologies, or resignation letters. His nervousness intensified, his head was aching, and, for some awful coincidence, Malfoy started talking. “Sir, you must understand we got the department already ruined and it takes longer than two years to restore it.”

Those could be considered rational words, but apparently rationality wasn’t Kingsley’s choice of the day. _So, it’s apologies then._ Not that Harry would say any since he didn’t know where he was wrong and was honestly scared to talk.

“I’m very aware of that, but I chose you because I believed in your abilities to make this department go back to the right path.” Shacklebolt sounded tired and disappointed, his paternal tone and choice of words were making the pair feel guilty. “In fact, I still believe in you, but my mistake was to think you dealt with your past and could work as a team so fast, but still, I expected more of you.” One more second of that talk and Harry was sure Malfoy was going to fucking cry. The damn prick didn’t get over _his_ daddy issues and making another paternal figure get disappointed was obviously taking a toll on him.

_When I thought it couldn’t get worse, it gets?_ Hitting his head until he passed out sounded nice, but the hangover-like-headache that was hitting him like crochet needles made him give up. _At least now I know Murphy’s Law will never let me down._

“You’ve been neglecting your responsibilities and causing the whole ministry a lot of problems. You must understand that when the Aurors fail, the other departments have to cover for you and right now we’re all shorthanded. It’s been six years since Hogwarts, you guys have got to get over old grudges. For the wellbeing of the nation, really.”

“So, to keep you with me and with the greater good in mind, I signed you up for couple therapy for two months. I hope you become, if not good friends, at least a nice team with whom I can count on. You can go now, your first session with the mind healer is tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”, both said while exiting. The taller of them was Malfoy and his shadow appeared even bigger when seen from behind. It was unnerving. He was mumbling all sorts of swearings, which made his shadow even more daunting. “That damn old git can’t even decide things without getting his head off out his bollocks. Can you believe it, Potter? The audacity. He thinks I’ll give up on your daft ass as soon as possible and go running for him, right? Fucked up, twat.”

Harry gave up and just followed.

**X**

Their first new step as a _team_ was to share an office. Shacklebolt left for them to choose which room would be their new quarters, it was also their first “task” of reasoning with each other in a healthy and constructive way. It can be left unsaid how wrong it all went, but Draco’s mind couldn’t forget the whole spectacle, so he kept reliving the whole scene. _That level of stress was just too unbelievable to be so easily forgotten_. And each time he relived it, he got even more baffled at how much of a pillock Potter was.

In Merlin’s and in Salazar’s name, the man was simply an abnormality. He truly believed two grown men, in which the man saying this was in question 5’8’’ feet tall and the other was 5’9’’ feet tall, could fit in that smelly cubicle of his.

Just Draco’s long _and elegant_ legs were to occupy half of it. No, the right decision was to stick with Draco’s office which had twice the measurements of Potter’s room. The blond put his foot down and said it was going to be his way. Did that old twat honestly think Draco could ever reason with such a gobshite idiot? Draco’s theory that Kingsley was indeed forcing him to quit Potter and be his personal lover boy was making much more sense.

Potter refused to accept some sense in that mind of his, it was unnerving. “For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, we can actually put six people inside that room, and they could work without even remembering they have colleagues. My office can fit both of us perfectly, you’ll just have to dispose of half of the garbage you collect.” Draco wasn’t sure what got to him first, the boldness of saying anything of his was a _waste_ or simply calling his beloved collections _garbage_. He was so pissed off and it was still 1 PM. How could he survive the rest of the day, he didn’t know? _Tea and candy, nothing less._

“Malfoy, where the bloody hell are you going? We got to move your things and rearrange the place, so your desk and cabinets fit in.”

Malfoy kept walking, not even sparing him a glance. The promise of a hot tea made his mind and body let go of the stress Potter so masterfully delivered.

If he had not just spared a glance, but stayed and helped Potter, he wouldn’t have to look at the mess his, in reality, _their_ new office was. Potter did put his two cabinets, desk, and chair in the room, it indeed fit perfectly, but everything was just a mess. Potter probably just levitated every piece and moved around. _Such a heathen, god._

So was in this situation he was found by the damn memorandums; sorting through his things and putting it all in order while holding back the desire to kill Potter. Draco could never escape since he didn’t have time for an alibi and even if he did, he would be the prime suspect for some other reason, so Potter’s dickhead wasn’t worth it.

The piece of flying paper said the place and time of each weekly _torture_ session and gave them the motivation to do a good job. _Motivational might be a little on the too nice side, what the fuck goes through that old pillock’s head?_ Draco wanted to go home, find his teddy dragon, and cry while holding it. It was literally written, “I’ve read your contracts and none of the duties there listed include letting a whole division to be uncared for while you fight like two old hippogriffs, so put a lot of effort in it and your jobs are safe.” _What if the poor old man lost his mind thinking about me? Potter would have the right to blame me even more, so he better not know it is my fault for having amazing genetics._

But it all made the killing wish to come back with renewed force. M _aybe living is Azkaban was my best option in life and I threw it away. I’m sorry for mistreating you, Azkaban._ Potter, on the other side of the place, was also on the brink of pulling all his hair out. “Potter, I beg you for Merlin’s sake, please don’t pull out your hair. A bald you are too much for my poor seeing. I’d have to go blind and obliviate myself. Have some mercy, will you, I’m not that good of an obliviator.”

Upon hearing this, the brunette misery only increased, to Draco’s delight. He started to hit his head on the desk, only slightly, but it was still a bothersome sight. “I think for starters we should talk to the healer about your inclination to self-harm. It is quite worrisome.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up. Malfoy, please shut up. Did you read this? One month of therapy with you is fucked up enough, but two? I’ll go straight to St. Mungus after that. I’m getting a room in the psychological trauma section. Thinking about it, they could open an entire division just for people traumatized by you. Maybe a whole floor”

“I’ve never heard you say so many words in a coherent string of thoughts before. Do you think we should celebrate or call a mediwizard?” Potter sighed and put his head over his arms, a clear sign of surrender. _I am physically incapable of losing, amazing_. “Well, whatever. I indeed read this piece of a transcribed nightmare, but I think we don’t have reason to worry.”

At this, the golden boy got up suddenly. His bafflement was written over his whole face and it was funny to watch. _He is too easy to read, the poor soul._ “How will we not worry? Our jobs are on the line and unfortunately saving them, and later the department depends on _me_ getting along with _you_. It is a lost cause.”

“Well, maybe we should worry about the person whose mind gave life to this torture, but for us no, we should not.” At the look of complete astonishment, Draco decided to be merciful with the poor mortal.

“Potter, we’ll have killed each other by the second session, there’s nothing to fear. We’ll be dead by next Monday, so you don’t have to get your bollocks on a knot. And the second session it’s a pessimistic view. We might as well kill each other today.”

**X**

For Harry’s dismay, they didn’t kill each other that day. In fact, they didn’t kill each other any of those days, and they were indeed coming each hour closer to not only the second session but the fifth one. And Merlin knows how much he wanted to be anywhere besides the Ministry, even after-life with Dumbledore and Snape seemed nicer.

This whole process helped Harry to find out that his mantra never worked because it was total bullshit. He couldn’t even imagine a better life, with or without Malfoy, simply because it didn’t exist. The only logical possibility was to the worsening scale. It was bad to worse to awful, no “good” option.

But, the reason for this mental break was one simple fact. The simplest of all, one that was quite obvious even, but one he never had to think about because he never shared a closed space with the evilest of all blondes (or was the blondest of all evilness?) for so much time and this fact was: Malfoy was a talker.

Not in bed, but nevertheless he probably was a talker there too. _Shite, now that image is simply going to burn the rest of my neurons. I’m never having sex again, for Merlin’s sake._

Malfoy was a fucking _talker_ in every possible moment or situation. He talked to while writing, he talked while organizing, he probably talked while sleeping too. The man didn’t know the meaning of shutting up and that’s why, in all those 13 years they knew each other _,_ the fucking sentence never worked. He talked to himself, he talked to his things, and, the worst, he talked to Harry.

In the umpteenth time he opened his mouth, Harry cracked. “Oh my gosh, bloody hell, FUCK THE SHUT UP”. Malfoy stopped, started, and in a little bit of a breathless aura, but stopped. “Thank Merlin, I didn’t know someone could actually talk that much. Fuck, I must pay my respects to your lungs and stamina. I mean, fuck, they work more than any other anatomy shite.”

Malfoy stayed wide-eyed and quiet for some time, first looking at Harry, then trying to recover his breath. Harry almost wished it didn’t come back. _Almost_.

Harry was dumbfounded. Malfoy really seemed like someone close to having a heart attack, he spent a lot more time than expected recovering his breath and normalizing his heartbeat. Harry felt guilty. _Mir. Icy has asthma for real then._ When he talked, Malfoy didn’t sound like someone pissed off, but hurt or scared. It sucked.

“Merlin, Potter, you almost killed me??? What the fuck you think you’re screaming about?? I asked to put some music and you said no, but nonetheless I need some sort of noise to concentrate, even if it’s my fucking voice, and I’ve told you this so you better deal with it. Bastard.” And coughed.

It was even more shocking that Malfoy was able to still _talk_ while in this restrained state. His voice was sounding strangled, but he was still capable of talking so many words, at such a fast pace, and Harry didn’t know if he laughed or cried at that. _The man was non-stop!_

After some more minutes in silence, with the blond’s breathing in a weird rhythm being the only sound, Harry started to get worried. He glanced at Malfoy each twenty to thirty seconds scared he would simply pass out. He tried to be discrete about his concern regarding Malfoy and thought he was doing okay in it, but of course, the git got fed up with the continuous glances. It probably wasn’t letting him concentrate again. _Ha, well deserved._ But then guiltiness hit Harry again.

“Potter, I’m not going to pass out or something. Just relax, I have asthma, as you already know, so stuff like this happens sometimes. Your wrinkled face is starting to unnerve me, but I am touched for being worthy of the Golden Boy’s concern.”

Harry didn’t want to do it just because _Malfoy_ told him so, but he indeed calmed down and went back to work. Of course, he couldn’t let a chance of being right slide, so he had the urge to add – “And, we’re going to our fifth session in two days, but you didn’t stop calling me by my surname even if it was asked since meeting one. Where is your effort?”

“I prefer to call you by Potter instead of doing this great effort of using phrases that don’t need a vocative if you even know what it is. You haven’t called me by surname, nor did you called me anything at all, so I don’t see how this is any form of progress either.” Harry felt slapped, but now that he actually knew Malfoy ( _okay, we’ll try calling him Draco now_ ) he didn’t find real venom behind his words.

In fact, weird as it may sound, he didn’t actually find himself feeling anything that bad towards Malfoy anymore. _Gosh, it can’t be that hard to call him Draco._ Sometimes, he truly felt like working with Malfoy ( _DRACO_ ) was hell, but it usually happened for small things, like his endless stock of words. Harry was honestly scared of searching a dictionary and finding the blond's picture as a meaning for “talker”. But besides that, which was a huge cause for fights lately, the other man’s presence didn’t bother Harry, and speaking to him was almost tolerable.

Harry got stuck with these thoughts through the rest of the day because, for him, the changes hadn’t sunk in until that instant. He and _Draco_ were really progressing and starting to work as a team. And the whole procedure was slow, but not so hard and nothing of it sounded real to his own ears.

When Harry and Malfoy ( _fucking Draco, it’s not that hard_ ) exchanged their byes and went different directions that afternoon, Harry decided to open himself to consider all that happened these last weeks.

Firstly, his mind went straight to the news Draco had to tell. They weren’t really _new_ , since all of them were things you could pick up if watching him closely, but, nonetheless. He was very funny and amicable when he felt like it, not in a forced and diplomatic way, but his true friendly pose was nice. He did have some deep shite to deal with, which ironically had to do with daddy issues, but he was already in a healing process with a muggle therapist, which made Harry’s world fall to pieces because this twist was just _too fucking much,_ but anyway, their mind healer chooses not to meddle with it.

The brunette still didn’t get over the natural way Malfoy ( _DRACO)_ talked about already having a therapist, and a muggle one for that, for almost two years even. He didn’t sound not one fleck unsure of saying it in front of Harry, it actually had a little bit of pride. He didn’t get over many things he found out. Malfoy wasn’t the same, something that was quite obvious to anyone who worked with them, but Harry never stopped to observe what really changed in him.

Their healer recommended some activities to make them more comfortable in each other’s company and to actually know one another past their rivalry and presumptions. “Honestly talking, if your boss had told me you guys were my patients, I’m not sure I would’ve accepted. You have a huge past to deal with and apparently you didn’t deal with yourselves before going to work with the other. It was a bomb waiting to explode, really. You must first get used to the other presence before even thinking about your past. That one might be the last thing you guys will have to deal together. So first, call each other by your first names. Talk about neutral topics and things should be fine. Get to know yourselves of the present, leave the past aside as much as possible.”

In the first moment, it didn’t work. Malfoy was already prepared to close himself and Harry didn’t even want to think about it, but their first session kept ramming in the back of his mind, and he needed to at least know what type of _Draco_ that was. The Draco Malfoy from his mind would never consider therapy, imagine with a muggle, nor flirt with the old ladies at random coffee shops. Harry needed to know what that person was. So, he decided to try. His persistence had to do with their jobs being on the line too since it would be the most idiot cause for demission and Harry might not need the money, but he needed the distraction. Staying home wouldn’t any good for him.

He talked to Hermione first, her chocked expression and speechless manner not helping much, but Ron’s ironic advice actually served him well. Ron said Malfoy was “a prince, so he didn’t have to work for things. He would never start anything, if you truly want to get inside the beast, you have to go after it.”

And honestly, in a second, third and maybe a tenth moment it wasn’t going further either, because Malfoy didn’t work for stuff, but he didn’t like helping other people to work either. It was such a slow pace; Harry believed their grandsons might finish it. But, eventually, Harry lowered his barriers and let himself be seen. Malfoy was like a cat, he came at an even more delayed step, but eventually, let himself be exposed too.

They painfully realized that what they knew about each other was information gathered in Hogwarts years, and, as such, very outdated knowledge. Harry still loved treacle tart but haven’t destroyed windows during a tantrum in years. In reality, he didn’t have tantrums anymore. He did like two girls at Hogwarts but was very gay and single these days. The shocking part was the Draco was bisexual. He got to never get forcefully married because his parents felt guilty about his teen and children's days. He hadn’t insulted a muggle for being muggle in years, but he did admit he might have insulted for other reasons.

And the list went on. And Harry got even more lost at how easy things were flowing between them. They indeed changed topics if any delicate theme was even slightly brushed, but neither discussed it further. Malfoy’s talkative manner was an A+ bugger and sometimes they still bickered over it, but it was nice in general.

Their fights were still a problem though. After the fourth session, their number of real discussions that lead to a tense situation decreased perceivably, but their intensity went the opposite direction. Words came like blades and “harmful exchanges” started out of nowhere, sometimes they were in the brink of taking their wands out. They didn’t talk about it, but the healer did warn them about this possibility.

It was clear to Harry that a bonding process was not easy and wouldn’t be done in two months, especially if he thought about their baggage. Huge baggage. But Harry prayed they could be a little less vivid about it. It was funny even. They couldn’t hate each other more and they couldn’t start liking each other less. Of course, liking was a strong word. They were able to make progress, but Draco and him probably would never hit the “friends” category. Even at that, they were _too_ much. Draco seemed icy, but when he was fully invested in anything he did just like Harry. Their forces, when added to one another, could only cause extreme damage or extreme improvement. No in-between.

**X**

After their fifth and sixth session, their bickering hit another level. It was bordering the physical instance and started happening over anything. In four weeks, they were almost friends and in two, they went ten steps back. The most awful part of it was that Draco knew it was _his_ fault.

He did have good reasoning behind it, but it was his baggage, nonetheless. It was his accumulated problems that were weighing them down and he was aware of that. Acknowledging the question didn’t make it go away nor made it easier to deal with. It was simply taking the cat out of the bag. But nevertheless, _Harry_ ’s very breathing made him crazy with anger, and Draco kind of knew why. It was something his therapist has been telling him to meddle with for some time now. Again, admitting all of it didn’t make anything easier.

In his defense, Potter’s actions weren’t helping either. To Potter, opening himself to Draco was actually easy. Of their 13 years of knowing one another, seven were spent with fist and hexes exchange and none of the other six were spent making amends. Also, in all those 13 years, Potter has never been rejected by Draco. In their first meeting, all those dreary times ago, Draco tried to make him his friend. All the other years, Draco was always the one initiating any exchange they performed. It was always Draco.

So, for starters, he has never been rejected by someone like Potter did. And the easy way they were turning into something that Draco always wanted as a kid was doing _things_ to his mind. That kind of dream was dead for him as soon as Potter rejected his hand so many years ago. He never saw Potter as his hero, he never saw him as a _good doer_ who deserved his gratitude. Every good deed each of them did for the other, Draco saw as inevitable and something that would happen between any other people.

Draco killed every single desire he ever had of seeing Potter on the good side of his life. Then, out of nowhere, the universe started sending him these pieces of what could have been. Potter showing what could’ve been his. It was torture.

He could have known all this silly information about Potter, he could’ve been there for Potter and Potter been there for him. Since their sixth session, when Draco admitted he hated silent places and couldn’t concentrate in quiet situations because the deadly quiet of his rooms at Manor scared him, Potter started to put music for him. He brought a muggle device to put songs on, taught him to use, and choose songs. Draco felt liking crying because only his mother would do that for him. 11-years-old Draco woke up in some distant part of his mind and started begging for all that he could have had. And, again, it was torture.

Potter asked about what to do when he had asthma crises and how could he help. He laughed at his jokes and brought him coffee for the bad mornings. But worse than knowing all that Potter could have given him during Hogwarts, was finding situations where he could have helped Potter.

Potter was scared of dark and small places because of his childhood with muggles (he didn’t specify what happened), so that’s why he didn’t want Draco’s office because there was less natural light there, that’s also why he hated Snape’s class. He didn’t have time to study for Potions and Draco would have given his right hand if he could have helped him with it. He didn’t have so many good memories and for that, he feared the Dementors steeling the few he had. Draco felt guilty and sad because he didn’t have the opportunity to know and live all of that with Potter, but he also made things worse.

Every time each of them spoke, their neutral topics were disappearing. They were going to touch the past very soon and Draco wasn’t ready for that. He dealt with his past and accepted it as it was, mistakes he committed and all, but Potter and what he had taken from him was a still sore wound. Thinking about it when they were still in the hate phase was easier because all Draco could do was imagine what he lost. But now? Potter gave him a small tasting of what could have been, and he hated him even more for taking it away in those years where Draco actually wanted it. 

And, of course, his traitorous mind kept reminding him that Potter would never offer him any kind of sympathy if it wasn’t for the threat of losing his job. His persistence in opening himself so Draco would let his guard down and all the other things he was doing were calculated risks just so he could keep his damn job. _Bloody fucking hell, I don’t want to feel like that._

At the same time, Draco knew Potter would do the same things for any of his beloved friends, he also knew the real reason for him to put so much effort in their bonding was to gain Kingsley’s approval. It fucking sucked.

After Kingsley approved them, they would go back to their old ways in a blink of an eye. It was almost universal cruelty that after so many years since he stopped wishing he and Potter to be friends, he got to have a taste of it, and then everything would be taken back again. He refused to open himself to it because it would hurt so much more when he and Potter inevitably fell into old patterns. Draco was always the broken part, he refused to be again.

He looked at Potter from the other side of the room, with his modern glasses and his rat’s nest of a hair, so close but at the same so unattainable. Draco’s eyes were holding back tears and he started to cough. He got up and ran to the toilet. _Please, please, please, that my first crying session at work don’t be because of Potter. Please, please._

Going to the toilet was an awful idea. Apparently, the whole ministry had business with him, so people kept stopping him. To say hi, to ask about some random and unimportant thing, to be Ronald Weasley asking about his best friend whereabouts and almost getting ran over since Draco yelled an “in the office” and kept going.

_Fuck, I hate this place. I might as well resign and move to France with my mother._ The bathroom wasn’t any better. Draco didn’t understand why people would talk while taking a piss. Contrary to popular belief, Draco didn’t talk in every place or situation. He liked to pee in peace, without anyone talking to him about the fucking weather.

Like Neville Longbottom making conversation while the blond was taking a piss in a tentative of confusing his body to think if a liquid was out, it didn’t need to cry and put out another one. It was almost working, but he wanted to cry just from having to listen to Neville.

“I’ve heard from Harry you and he are almost good friends. It is nice to see you finally befriending your partner. After two years, but better late than ever, right?” Longbottom was usually nice. Draco liked him and, ironically, he was one of the few ministry employees that treated him well in his first years. Draco usually saw a friend in him. In that instant, though, he couldn’t stop wishing he would shut up. Or just piss off. Whichever came first.

“Yeah, well, with our jobs at risk, we need to play to win, right?” Draco put all his effort into not sounding bitter, but it obviously failed. Neville was really good at reading and understanding people, he caught his faltering mood in the first word.

“Are you okay, Draco? Do you want to talk?”, the sentence itself never affected Draco. Everyone could ask you something like that without meaning to _actually_ listen to you. But Longbottom had this look. This very worried and caring one, it reminded Draco of Harry’s look. _What an amazing time to call him by name. Of course, that’s how my first crying session will go. Not because of Potter, but because of fucking_ Harry.

Then Draco cried.

**X**

Around two weeks after their last session, Harry was sure Draco and he were friends.

He was so sure he could put it on an outdoor and throw fireworks around it. He was really sure. Kingsley was happier than any of them about their new-born friendship. Unfortunately, he repeated his awful parenting and marriage metaphors, “You guys are the living proof that a new baby can save a marriage. And you what they say about a safe marriage? You can save your department with it, that is your older son awfully affected by your bickering. Oh, I’m so happy for you sirs.”

To that, even Draco was at a loss of words, what had everything to be amazing if he wasn’t so fucking quiet these days, and Harry kind of missed his rants. “I don’t see how he intends to conquer me talking about marriage with you. His intents are getting blurred.” But the words eventually went back to him. Talking about Shacklebolt's crush always got him talking again. Funny.

“Potter, what if he is a _cuck_? Bloody hell, that old twat is getting _shadier_ by day. But you know what they say, to each, his own. I just hope he gives up soon on making me his own too.”

And Harry felt free to laugh at it, call him ridiculous and then laugh some more. Harry felt a lot of things, actually. He felt peaceful thinking about their great teamwork. And happy about their inside jokes, like Kingsley’s forbidden love, and _rapt_ about their secrets, like the old lady from the cafeteria down the street that would give anyone who knew her maiden name an extra muffin (the answer was the places name). He also felt remorse when considering what he and Draco could have shared at Hogwarts, but then he reminded sharing wasn’t what they were doing anyway.

Right, this was the point he was building to. _He,_ Harry Potter, was sure they were friends. He felt the same nice and homely thing when around Draco that he felt when around Mione and Ron. But he couldn’t say the same for Draco.

They weren’t fighting, they weren’t in the get-to-know-the-other phase, Harry liked to talk and spend time with Draco, he felt good around him, so, for him, they couldn’t be called anything but friends. But Draco was not showing the same signs.

He wasn’t bickering with Harry, but from time to time, in the middle of a conversation, he would leave their office and come back some minutes later looking relieved. Like he was holding something back. But it wasn’t just this. Even though they were on each other’s good side, Draco refused every single invitation to dinner with their colleagues, to go to the Leaky Cauldron, and so on. He didn’t accept even lunching with Harry out of their office, but he accepted with other people. He went to Leaky with other people. 

And Harry gathered this information thanks to their mutual friends. Which was at least ironic. Neville and Luna were Draco’s friends too, and they were called _friends_ by the blond. Once, the git even joked about being _friends_ with Neville only because he wasn’t bad to look at. He didn’t use that damn word so much, but Harry was hurt nonetheless because he was never called a friend. Even though they were. It was undeniable.

Or so he thought. Nevertheless, Luna once asked why Harry and Draco’s schedules were so different even though they were partners. Harry didn’t understand it and, honestly, he wished he still didn’t because her answer hurt. Draco went out with them and the rest of the group every time he wasn’t, but never went when he was. She said it was funny. “Even your agendas are complementary opposites.”

It hurt even more because Harry didn’t think of him and Draco as opposites in any sense. They had different manners, but he could now see that there was so much parallelism in their trajectories and ways of acting. They complimented each other perfectly for their differences, but they weren’t black and white. Not anymore.

Or so he thought, again.

The bigger question was why Draco never said or done anything about it. Everything was initiated by Harry. Now that he had music to help him concentrate, Draco talked less and only when necessary. Since they got complimented by Kingsley, he retracted into himself and left only formal politeness at Harry’s disposal. Some days, when in a good mood, Harry presumed, Draco would call him git, dickhead, or pillock and joke with him and all. His good mood eventually died as if he realized he was doing something wrong. And, usually, after lunch, he would come back to the office with his ice facade and focus on work. It truly sucked.

However, Harry was _really_ invested in befriending that blond dickhead or at least finding out why they couldn’t do it, thus he waited patiently until one of them cracked, since, evidently, they only had progressed when one of them, or both, lost their mind. So, losing their mind was always the securest of ways.

He had to wait exactly two more months of that creepy attitude until Neville talked to him. Yes, exactly. The original idea was to crack Draco, but, apparently, Neville was deeply involved since he was the shattered one. Or, as Harry assimilated what he was told, he was directly bothered by Draco’s complaints, so he decided to solve it himself. Thus, technically, Draco did crack, but it rebounded on Neville’s ears and he was the one who decided to come clean about it.

“Harry, Draco has shite he didn’t deal with yet and that idiot hogshead doesn’t want to solve with you yet. Or never, honestly. You guys have a huge past, you can’t truly want to befriend before dealing with it.” And some other things that were probably important, but Harry’s mind decided to ignore in the name of consideration. He didn’t know if this uncertain friendship was worth meddling with the past just yet, or never as Neville said.

They never got to discuss it and Draco was obviously working to deal with it on his own, but there were things between them that needed to be directly called upon. Harry himself wasn’t sure of their mental strength to poke it just now. He wasn’t sure of the possible results of it and he didn’t want to risk their already fragile bond, nor his own mental health in the process.

He thought all this through countless times until he concluded: he couldn’t decide anything about his and Draco’s relation without _actually_ talking to Draco. It was a selfish, coward, and “very non- _potterish"_ action, as Draco would say.

But Harry didn’t give up on prying information out of Draco, he simply decided for other strategies. He would drop some random commentary and wait for a response. He once talked about the time he and Gryffindor House won the House Cup and almost danced when Draco mumbled “Then it was the whole Dumbledore period, right?”. Even if it was some grunt, he would take it.

All those years having the blond as a constant in his life, Harry did learn some useful data about him. For instance, he knew the best way to make a Malfoy do something was by bothering them with it. When something truly disturbed them, then they would act. It was a foolproof method.

And it worked, but at such a slow pace again. Harry was in a rush, so he chose the hard and old way. He decided to speak.

Even if when he made up his mind to directly speak to Draco it sounded easy, in reality, Harry was having problems detecting the right moment to start. He didn’t know how to even come up with the topic. Being direct sounded wrong, but he knew if he beat around the bush Draco would get tense and snap at him. Nothing seemed right and Harry really just wanted to know what was up.

Hermione laughed every time he talked to her, saying that even when things were simple when it came to Malfoy, Harry would “make things more interesting than they were so you have a _valid_ excuse to keep prying into it”. “Your obsession with him is always hitting a new level, if you do turn into friends, I’m excited to see what you’re gonna obsess over then.” As soon as she got over the initial shock, she and Ron were already making they’re jokes and spreading the news. Their support came easily like they were expecting it a long time ago. “Anything you do about Malfoy doesn’t surprise me, mate. You could ask his hand tomorrow and I would’ve expected it.” Ron was finding it all funnier than it actually was. They continuously hearing about Kingsley’s metaphors (thanks to Luna) didn’t help Harry’s case either.

Nevertheless, Harry was aware of it too. He knew that his curiosity over anything Malfoy-related hasn’t diminished since school days, but since the war, it never showed itself as a problem, thus he never worried about it. Furthermore, Draco was also just as inquisitive about him. At least in this aspect, their relationship was very much reciprocal.

In order to have that reciprocity in all aspects, Harry got Draco on a good day and simply decided to run his mouth off. Let it all out.

“I was sure we were friends. Finally, friends. Adding up those eight sessions and this month, we’re spent three months working on this “bond with your partner” project and I thought we succeeded. And I think you did too. But half of this time we’re fighting or staying quiet, so we don’t fight. And you make sure to spend time out, so you don’t fucking scold me for nothing. And I want you to scold me. Yell at me or whatever. Just fucking do it, so we can move on to hate it each other or be friends or simply live in a polite sympathy.”

He was afraid Draco would simply run out of the room, so he previously used a _colloportus_ just as a formality. It was really a smart decision since Malfoy seemed in a running mood. But then he just breathed and gave up. Draco put his things in his desk and leaned on it. Sighing, he apparently had mixed thoughts about what was going on and what would be his actions. Then he finally decided. “I did think it was unfair to you, but I was raised to protect myself, besides it sounded less arduous. Well, you better sit. We have about thirteen years of trauma to discuss.”

And so, they did.


End file.
